Honestly, Repetition makes Perfect
by dandylyings
Summary: "You think you're depressed, but you won't tell anyone out loud. If you say it out loud it will no longer be true. You do think there is something wrong with you, but rationalization is better than medication – so you will wait until you are better. You will wait until you feel happy again. You will wait."
1. You say you are, you say you are

**I**

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, but you won't tell anyone out loud. If you say it out loud it will no longer be true. You _do_ think there is something wrong with you, but rationalization is better than medication – so you will wait until you are better. You will wait until you feel happy again. You will wait.

**II**

You are waiting.

**III**

Your mother thinks you are fine.

Your mother thinks you are fine.

Your mother thinks you are fine, and you're the one that convinced her. You bring her flowers on your way to her house. They are paired with a fresh batch of Publix cookies and a fake smile, both she takes with genuine love.

You both talk about things you didn't expect yourself to be talking about at age twenty-four. She asks you about your engagement with Sam, you talk about how your ankle is healing. When she leaves momentarily for the bathroom you eye her medication she left on her kitchen counter with guilt.

You want to take them. You want to take them. You want to take them all.

By the time she comes back, you're sure you are depressed – but you don't tell her out loud. You tell it to her with heavy eyes and a longing goodbye hug. You whisper it to her in your "I love you."

You hope she tasted it in the cookies.

You will wait until she does. You will wait.

**IV**

You are still waiting.

**V**

You tell Sam that you don't know if _you_ are ready. You tell him it's too early in your relationship for you both to make this type of commitment. He tells you that he believes that _he_ is ready, but that he wants to be ready together. You believe him.

He is too good to you.

He tells you he will wait for you. He will wait for you.


	2. Brittany the Masochist

**A/N: **This is very much so a Brittana fanfic. Brittana will come, but Brittany first must develop. Thank you to all those whom have taken the time to read, and the one that has taken the time to review.

* * *

**I**

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, and Sam's still waiting. You've moved out of his apartment and into one of your own.

You don't even know how you've managed three months on your own, but you have.

**II**

You are lying in bed watching old re-runs of _So You Think You Can Dance_. You've been doing this all week.

**III**

Michael, the guy who got your job, is actually really good at dancing.

You hate him for it.

You took your first shower in the last three days to visit your old dance studio. When you walk into your old four-o-clock class and set against the wall, you watch Michael do what your ankle won't allow you.

He's just so fluid and so heart-felt and just so damn happy.

And you hate him for it.

When you do get the chance to meet him, he's draining a bottle of water. His students have already left and you introduce yourself as a different set comes in. He asks you to call him Mike, which you reply with a smile before continuing to call him Michael.

You're not his friend. You're not his acquaintance. You're not anything.

He's charming and funny and quiet and reminds you of your father. The only difference is that he has a smile that stays.

And you hate him for it.

You decide to stay and watch his six-o-clock class since you're a masochist. If you couldn't tell this was a beginner class by the skill level, then you definitely found it out by the complaints. The class is only about twelve people, but the wheezing and whining sounds like that of double – and that's just from one person. He's chubby and choppy and clearly not a dancer and you automatically love him for it. By the time the class ends, you're sure you want to be his best friend. You're superficial in that way, you guess.

By the time you get to your feet, Michael is already continuing to be charming. He greets the main complainer, Finn, with open arms. You didn't notice how tall Finn was while he was dancing, you guess it's because his height wasn't the thing making him stand out. Finn smiles back at Michael's encouraging words before crouching down to gather his things.

You hobble over to his position with the grace of none.

You introduce yourself. Nothing too spectacular - just your name and a fake smile. He accepts it before doing, what you think to be, the same. You both talk for a few minutes before he says he has to leave.

When he does, you follow him out. Leaving the studio behind you.

**IV**

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed.

You think you're depressed, and it still hurts to walk.

**V**

Sam is still waiting. Or at least that's what he said on the voice mail he left you. He said that he still wants to be with you, and is still willing to wait. It's been seven months since you broke it off, but you know is telling you the truth.

You also know you'll make him wait forever.

You don't love him.

You don't love him.

You don't love, anymore.


	3. Falling and Falling on purpose

**I**

You think you lost your mind when you lost your virginity.

**II**

"Brittany," your mother sighs over the phone, "you haven't been around in a long time."

You think about the last time you saw her, about four months ago. You brought her the regular: flowers, cookies, lies. She replied her same: hugs, smiles, genuine affection.

You were waiting for her to finish her routine of asking you questions.  
(She asked you about your desk job, which you hate. And your lack-of-friendships. And your lack of motivation. And your lack of smiles and cheer and joy and love and happiness.)

(She even asked you about your relationship with Sam, in which you said nothing.)

But she didn't stop because of the reasons she normally does. Instead of stopping because there were no more questions, she stopped because she knew you had no answers.

You waited and waited and waited for her to ask another question.

You waited and waited for her to stop thinking over her cookies and continue.

You waited and she waited. And you smiled and she didn't. And you tried smiling harder, hoping she'd stop looking at you like she couldn't remember. And you hoped she would just do something else. And so you just started talking about Sam and desk jobs and friendships and motivation and happiness and you smiled and smiled and smiled harder. And she just stared and stared.

And when she finally opened her mouth, she asked you if dream of flying.

And you cried.

And you left.

And you knew you were depressed.

You knew you were depressed.

You knew you were depressed, and she tasted it in the cookies.

**III**

You ran/walked four miles today. You told your mom. It made her happy.

**VI**

Your father often dreamt of flying. He was a bird in another life, you think. But, like, a penguin or chicken; one of those birds that don't get the chance to enjoy what the others do. You think your father was a chicken. A chicken who thought he was a eagle.  
And he thought he could fly.

Or that's what your mother told you when you asked her why your father jumped from that building. But now you know that he didn't jump because he thought the air would catch him, but because life hurts less when your falling.

Your father dreamt of falling, and you do, too.

And you hate yourself for it.

You hate yourself for it.

You hate yourself.

**V**

You visited Charming Michael's dance class again, mostly because you're a masochist. It's becoming a habit. It's the third time in the last two weeks you've sat in. But it gives you a reason to shower, plus you're mom has been calling more than you'd like - so it's the best option for right now.

Finn is trying his hardest and it makes you want to give him a gold star for effort. And you tell him that when the class is over and he's crouched over his stuff, packing up his various empty water bottles and sweat soaked towels. He laughs at your comment as you walk him out to the door.

He strangely reminds you of your old best friend, Puck, who you learn he also knows. He says that Puck is throwing a party tomorrow night and that he's sure Puck would love to see you. You tell him that you'll think about it, but it sounds more like you're saying you'll take a rain check. He gives you his number in case you change your mind.

You want to go to the party.

You want to go because at parties there are free drinks.

And happy people.

And (possible) good music.

And dancing.

(_And_ because you're a masochist.)


	4. You are superficial

**I**

You told Finn you're going to Puck's party. He sounded super excited about this. He really wants to introduce you to his girlfriend, who everyone awkwardly calls Sugar (because she hates her first name), and you really want to meet her. You guys are going to eat at some bar before you all head off together.  
You like that his excitement is contagious, and you automatically love him for it.

**II  
**  
You've decided you want to punch Sugar in the face... Until she offers to pay for your meal, and then you decide that she isn't that bad.

You're superficial like that, you guess.

**III **

Puck picks you up when he hugs you. His arms feel like memories and he smells like smoked jolly ranchers. You didn't realize how comforting his touch was until he let you down to greet Finn in a bro-tastic, manly hug.

He continues to make his rounds when he gives Sugar a weird pat/hug, and then excuses himself to greet the other various people coming into his house. You always loved Puck's parties, mostly because you heard them before you could see them. The music was always loud, the people were always arriving by the dozens, and the drinks were always plentiful. His parties haven't changed, you notice.

**VI **

You haven't danced for almost two years, and it feels like it. But your ankle is actually holding up and you're taking full advantage.

You take a break from popping and locking and dropping to finally catch your breath. You've been at this for hours. The dancing around you continues as you move away from the grinding bodies and towards the entrance of the kitchen.

You're tired and sweaty but oh so surprisingly happy. When you reach the kitchen, the first thing you want is a bottle of water. Conveniently, Charming Michael finds his way to you with one.

"Who knew you danced?" He shouts over the music. "You're killin' it out there, girl!"  
You fake smile and accept the water he hands to you before walking further into the kitchen where the music is less. You turn toward him and reply with a well-practiced smirk, "there's a lot you don't know about me, Michael."

You take this time to look at him fully, and let your mind wonder how long he's been here. You've long since left Puck, Sugar, and Finn to the call of the beat and haven't actually socialized this whole night. He could've showed up anytime over the last three hours, so you stop trying to speculate as he continues to talk. "Brittany," he says, "you can really call me Mike." He has a smile that's genuine and it reminds you of your father and you hate him for it.

You fake another smile before you take a swig of the water in your hand, "okay, Michael." You say, because you still don't think of him as a friend. But he laughs, because he must think you're trying to be funny or flirty and you shrug because you just want to drink water then dance; however, his laugh is interrupted by two chicks. One, the Asian looking one, drunkenly grabs onto Michael's bicep protectively before staring at you expectedly. The other one, the Hispanic looking one, just looks you. You stare back at the two girls before giving your own expected look at Michael because you really don't have time for a jealous girlfriend and her wanna be bitch bestie right now. Not when you're in the best mood you've been in, in forever.  
Michael clears his throat as he registers this as an awkward moment. "Brittany, this is my girlfriend, Tina," he says while gesturing toward the Asian girl with the arm she isn't holding. "Tina," he continues, "this is Brittany. She stops by the dance studio from time to time." You smile your practiced smile in her direction when he says your name with all the energy you can muster at the moment.  
She says a quick, but slurred Hi before dragging Michael away, leaving you with the one girl he didn't introduce you to.

She's still staring at you. And you wait and wait and wait a minute or two for something to happen but she doesn't say anything. It starts to creep you out a bit because she's just staring at you like she's trying to remember.  
You're about to walk around her, but as soon as you start to move, she speaks. "You're Brittany, right?" She asks you like she isn't sure before shaking her head because she realized that, that was a dumb question. You both know she heard Michael literally just say your name. "I mean," she starts again, "you're Brittany Pierce?" She shakes her head again when she realizes how stalkerish she sounds and you think she deserves more of a gold star for trying than Finn. An you're in such a good mood that you actually start to laugh because that's a funny thought, and you laugh and you laugh as you nod your head to answer her question.

And she just watches you laugh, as her face flushes a bit, before she joins in with you. And you laugh and she laughs and you both double over. You don't even know why you're laughing anymore but you feel so good and the music is so loud and you feel like you could carry this smile into your dreams.

And she finally calms down enough to awkwardly reach out her hand like a dork and say her name, and you shake it as you continue to laugh.  
"It's very nice to meet you, Santana." You say.

And she smiles at you.

And she smiles at you.

And she smiles and you think you want to be her friend.

**V**

It's been a month since the party and you've since visited your mother. You brought your usual: flowers and cookies. And she accepts both with a smile and you actually smile back.

You tell her about how you've spent the last two weeks at the dance studio. You tell her about how you want to get a new job, one that doesn't have you behind a desk. You tell her that you actually answered Sam's call, but you don't tell her that he is no longer waiting.

You don't tell her about how your ankle still hurts when you stretch it. You don't tell her that you only showered because she wanted you to come over. You don't tell her that you haven't slept more than three hours because you dream of flying.

When she leaves to use the rest room, you still watch her pills with interest.

You still want to take them. You still want to take them all.

But your mother thinks you're fine.

Your mother thinks you're fine.

Your mother thinks you're fine, and you're the one that convinced her.


	5. Because, Elephants remember

**A/N**: I want to say that all of these chapters have been unbeta'd. Also, I'm really enjoying writing something that isn't for a grade, or judged too harshly, and thank all of the people reading. And for those who have written reviews, thank you. I appreciate everything.

* * *

**I**

You run into Santana at the grocery store.

You run into Santana at the movies.

You run into Santana at the bookstore, and you still don't have her number.

**II**

"Somedays aren't yours at all," Quinn sings from her spot behind the bar. You're staring at her because she is pretty and has really white teeth and she's distracting you from your nerves. She's the type of pretty that makes you feel like your face is beyond help.

You've been hanging out with Puck and his friends a whole lot more lately. They love coming to this sports bar a few blocks away from your job, so you find yourself here a lot.

It's just you Puck, Finn, Sugar, Michael and Tina sitting around a table, and you guys are waiting for two more. The two you invited: Sam and his fiancé, Mercedes.

This is the first time you're spending your free-time with Sam since you ran into him last month at the bookstore. He told you that he is happy now and you told him that you're dancing again, and all you could think about while he explained his last two and a half years without you is that you keep running into people at the bookstore. Then you thought about your weekly lunches with Puck and his friends that are becoming daily lunches, and when he said he wanted you to meet someone, you couldn't _wait_ to say yes. He was there and this was an opportunity you had to take. And all you could think about was the missed opportunities you had - in just that month alone.

You thought how you barely use your phone anymore, and about all the numbers you don't have. You thought you wouldn't _wait_ for this opportunity to go by. You needed to start living, you think. You needed to start living for those who can't.

You continue to chant that in your head until you see a flash of blonde hair come through the door. Sam is smiling back at a girl whom looks scared for her life as he pulls her in after him. She is beautiful, with curly black hair with the skin to match. Her lips are the perfect pouty, her height is just below his, and her smile is completely contagious. She is the total opposite of you, and you automatically love her for it. Not for superficial reasons, surprisingly, but because Sam doesn't deserve another girl who can't love herself.

As shocking as this isn't, Sam completely hits it off with the other boys at the table. They are all dorks and make you laugh by that fact alone. It makes you think of bookstores and movie theaters and parties you've been to. It makes you think of a lot of things you didn't know you remembered. Things like how Santana was in the Self-help ales, reading rigorously and proud before you said hello. Or how she wore the perfect boot/jacket combination while going to go get eggs and beans. Or how she, too, went to see a movie alone.

Sugar's cough startles you back to the table, back to conversation that is insanely confusing since you haven't participated in it. She is laughing as she coughs, so you guess she just drank water wrong. You take this time to look around at the group of people you're with. They are talking about things you never expected yourself to talk about at twenty-six, and for the first time that doesn't bother you. They are talking about subjects you know you'll forget, but are giving you memories you'll remember even after your head hits the pillow.

When you do go back to your apartment, you take the time to actually smile. You've been doing it so much lately that it's starting to feel natural again. You smiled with Sam as he told you about Mercedes, you smiled when she told you that you were beautiful, you smiled when she bashfully looked away when you told her the same. She was nice and kind and grateful for reasons you don't know, but you are happy that you had time to meet her. You wonder, while thinking of Mercedes, why you were nervous to begin with.

Her hug goodbye was longing, and you got her number for future occasions.

You think you have friends.

You think you have friends.

You think you have friends, and you're okay with that.

**III**

"Brittany," you hear her say in surprise, her left hand over her chest. "God, you scared me," she breathes out.

You were walking from your job to the bar for lunch with the "gang," when you saw her on the opposite side of the sidewalk. You might have, maybe, ran across the street just to get to her. You might have taken her right hand into your left because of reasons. You might have laughed when she screamed, which turned into a sigh and a head shake. You might've asked her to accompany you for lunch.

And after being full and free, you might have even, just maybe, asked for her number.

**VI**

"What's your favorite color?" You ask her. It's ten-o-clock and you just got home.

The first thing you did was call her.

"I've already told you," she says with a laugh. You shake your head no, though she can't see, as you ask her when you were told such vital information. "Last week, when you asked me why I hated coconut so much." She says. And she's right, and she knows it, and you remember, too.

But you don't want to tell her out loud.

You continue around your mess up, making it into a joke. You love hearing her laugh. It's one of those things that make you want to sing.

You just don't tell her out loud. It would be too creepy to just spring that on her. If you _did_ tell her, you'd have to wait until she's laughing again, that way it's like you just thought of it.

It's three in the morning and you're still on the phone. You feel like a teenager again, and you tell her that. She laughs her sleepy laugh, you think it's the one you love the most, before asking you another question.

"What age did you start dancing," she asks. For a second, you almost regretted being the shifting point of the conversation. You sit there, thinking of a way to answer such a simple question before she continues on, rambling, "you don't have to answer, or anything. I was just curious but if it makes you uncomfortable -"

You cut her off with the story of when you stopped dancing. You could've easily answered her question, but you'd rather just get this out of the way.

Plus, you're a masochist.

You tell her about how you almost made it. You tell her about what you _could've_ been talking about at age twenty-six. You tell her about Christopher Scott, the amazing director, and how he hand-picked you for his new show. You tell her about Mathew Diamond and how you were so close.

You don't cry when you say, "I was a week away from signing the biggest contract of my life," because you don't get that right. To be honest, not dancing isn't the hardest thing in the world for you.

Which makes you stop your story short. Because you don't tell her that it was a car crash. You don't tell her about Marley or Rachel or Kurt. Or that you only fell because you were thrown. You don't explain how it hurts to know that they died and you didn't.

You don't tell her that you were responsible.

You don't tell her that you were responsible.

You can't tell her that you are responsible, because she might hate you, too.

You don't want to tell her out loud, because then it will become true.

**V**

"I think were in Elephant's for each other " she says after your confession.

And you smile, because, like, what?

"What do you mean," you chuckle, you arms shifting to hold you together. "What does even mean?"

"Because," she says before going to sleep. She says it so confident that you believe it makes sense.

Because, you think. Just, because.


	6. Happy Birthday, Brittany

**A/N**: I'm bad at updates, and I normally don't finish things I start; however, though I lack motivation to finish this story, I think that it just reminds me think that I'm in tune with my depiction of this Brittany. So, in dedication that the struggle is in fact real - I will finish this story, as well as my other two.

(Even if it turns me crazy.)

(This is the day this fanfic began to mean more than a story.)

_I'd also like to thank Kelly for existing. I appreciate you so, so much. Your understanding words helped me find my own. Thank you, again. I've only known you for literally 17 hours, but you've already helped me with things I cannot even describe. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

* * *

**I**

You realized you shared your birthday with someone your sophomore year in high school. Marley was a freshman from Florida, who couldn't take the cold, and you were a half-orphaned child who couldn't take your father's cold-shoulder. You guys just fit together, you guess.

You'd both celebrate your day by being adventurous, or as adventurous you could get in Ohio: partying it up in small clubs, taking road trips to Columbus and Cincinnati and Cleveland, you guys even once took a pottery class.

(Your small clay pot was "the _best_ fucking small clay pot she ever saw," and she would always tell you that before she told you that, that's why she didn't want to share it with anyone. That's why she only kept it deep, _deep_ in her closet instead of out in her living room, so only she could absorb the beauty of your masterpiece.)

Her last birthday was spent with all the people she loved and then some.

You almost missed her surprise party. Almost. You and Sam were having a semi-romantic evening at this little Italian restaurant. He proposed to you that night as part of your birthday gift. You were so excited that you almost forgot that it was her birthday, too. Almost.

But you would never forget her birthday.

You could never forget her birthday.

You could never forget her.

**II**

"Please tell me you're about to turn this shit off and go out tonight." Puck says as soon as you settle back onto the couch. You only opened your door because you thought he was Santana. You're actually debating kicking his ass out now that you're sure she's not sporting buzz-cut, which you don't even remember him having. "Brittany," Puck starts again, "please tell me that you lost track of time and that you're about to change into something that will make the whole world's dick hard." Puck tries to emphasize his statement by humping the air, but you barely notice it over the reruns of _So You Think You Can Dance_. "Dammit, Brittany, it's your _birthday_, for Christ sake!" He says, using his now up-thrown hands for emphasize. "Why are you the only one who doesn't seem that excited about that?"

You shrug your reply, "I am excited." You turn to look at him, "so fucking excited," you deadpan. You think he has enough of you when he turns on his heels and walk/marches away from you.

What you didn't expect is to see him come back with a dress you've not worn in years and accessories to match. You didn't expect him to pick you up bridal style from the couch, twirl you around a few times and walk you into the bathroom. You don't expect the giggle that crashed through your lips or how you enjoyed taking a shower with idea that someone wanted you to more than yourself.

Markey did that before. It was your 18th birthday, her 17th, and you were still grieving your father's decisions.

You were sad and in sweats and were just starting to grow your heavy wings. But she found you, and she grabbed you, and she told you, "Brittany, as long as I am alive, you will not mope around on your birthday. You are too beautiful and too charming to not be happy today. If not for yourself, at least for me." You'd then go on to laugh at her mocking pout and to get dressed and to go to celebrate both of you living one year longer.

You dedicated that birthday to her.

Because you were beautiful.

Because you were charming.

Because you loved her.

**III **

"Hello, there, my Elephant friend," she tells you upon walking up. Her hair is swept back and her make-up lightly applied. She scrunches her nose before playfully palming her hand over her face, "that sounded so much smoother in my head," she laughs.

You laugh back a drunken giggle, your fifth drink of the night now a thing of the past, before pushing off your spot at the bar and grabbing Santana's hand. You guide her to the middle of the dance floor while moving her into your leg.

The song that is playing is completely irrelevant. The only thing that really matters is that she hasn't pushed you away, even when you start to touch a little too much from the alcohol, or even when you whisper in her ear asking her to take you home. She just takes your hand and leads you're stumbling self out the door, passing Puck and Finn and Sam on the way out. It's all too fast and all too soon but it's your birthday. It's your birthday. It's your birthday.

When you get to the cold outside, you wish that it had a sobering effect. You actually start to feel the eight drinks you've had in the last hour and a half. You almost fall flat on your ass, but Santana was there and kept you close. Out of the last five months you've known her, you've yet to notice that she had mole on her right shoulder.

"S'ntana," you slur, "how 'any drink you had?"

"None, Brittany," she answers.

"Oh," you say, "then why you so stumbly?" you mumble.

"C'mon, Britt," Santana says through her gritted teeth, completely ignoring your last statement, "you gotta use your legs here." You look down and notice that your legs are dragging and fumbling across the concrete and the sight just makes you laugh. Santana just huffs in response.

When you do get to Santana's car, you're hysterically laughing. Santana isn't really getting your joke, and from her facial expression she is getting really upset. And you slowly stop laughing. Because you don't want her to be mad. Because you guys are in a car that smells like Ohio. Because she's going to drive. Because she's taking you home. Because today was an adventure. Because she's here and you're there and she's nothing like you.

Because she wouldn't drive while drinking.

Because she wouldn't drive while drinking.

Because.

**IV**

It's your birthday.

It's your birthday.

It's your birthday, and you hate yourself for trying to celebrate it.

**V**

Marley was 22 when she died. You remember it was her birthday.

You, Rachel, and Kurt were throwing her a surprise party. You were so excited because she was going to love it. Everyone she ever loved was going to be there. You were so nervous that day that you barely ate. It was just going to be so perfect, you were going to announce your job offer and you had it all planned out. Rachel made history by being the first and only white woman ever cast lead in a production of _The Raisin in the Sun_, granted the director was still in high school and it was, _in fact_, a high school production, but it was progress. Kurt was back in town from his honeymoon with his husband, Blaine. Everything was going to be perfect.

Sam wanted to take you out before you surprised her, though. He ended up taking you to this little Italian restaurant, where you both shared a few glasses of wine. He proposed to you that night as part of your birthday gift. You were so excited that you almost forgot that it was _her_ birthday, too. But you would never forget her birthday.

But you_ did_ forget you had to pick Rachel and Kurt up from the flower shop. You didn't even know that shops were open until that late, but they were and they got the Marigolds Marley loved and they were happy and you were happy. And you were so excited you almost forgot that you had to pick Marley up from her job. Almost. But you could never forget her on her birthday.

And you picked her up, and she joined the gang in the car. And she noticed your ring, and you laughed and she laughed and you all laughed together. And she looked beautiful and charming and a lot like love.

And you were there and she's no longer here. And Rachel screamed, and the car was going so fast, and your ring looked so much like car lights, and you were flying before you knew it, and your heavy wings opened up like the ground that welcomed your fall.

And you blame yourself.

Because you could never forget her birthday.

And you blame yourself.

Because you could never forget her.

And you blame yourself

Because.


	7. Life goes Through Cycles

**I  
**  
A week after your twenty-third birthday, you decided that you might be chicken. You were a chicken who knew they were a chicken.

You knew you couldn't fly.

You knew you couldn't fly.

You know you couldn't fly because your wings were too heavy.  
**  
II**

"You have the most beautiful eyes," Sugar says from across the table. "They'd look so much more beautiful if you wore earrings to bring them out."

She keeps staring at your face like she's waiting for something.

You say thank you hoping that would be it, but she just keeps staring at you. And you're getting a little creeped out. And maybe you slide the butter-knife off on the table and into the palm of your hand. Maybe Santana taught you how to "_cut a bitch_" like they do in Harlem. Maybe you think you can shank Sugar really quick, before Santana and Finn come back from the bar, and she could die a death for being creepy. Maybe you also start to think you're being a _bit_ extreme but she won't stop staring at you and that butter-knife is starting to look like a good way out.

"Do I have pretty eyes, Brittany?" she asks before opening her purse and pulling out a compact mirror/brush. You never really understood those things. They always looked really gross and unclean. "Because I've been told I have beautiful eyes, especially when I wear earrings" Sugar continues, and you really have no idea where she's going with this.

"Okay," you tell Sugar as she stares at herself in her gross little mirror-brush. "Your eyes are nice," you say because you have no idea what this is about.

"Oh, Brittany, thank you so much for complimenting my eyes," Sugar says too fucking loud for it to be genuine, and you notice a few people eyeing you guys from their respectively places in the Sports bar.

You were just about to _murk_ her (a phrase Santana said she learned in California... It means murder), but Finn and Santana were now on their way back, and you don't think that Finn would appreciate her death after he just bought her a drink. Because drinks are always super expensive at Sports bars when there's a football game playing. It's the third time you've been to this bar, the first on a football Sunday, and the price for beer today should be a crime. And you'd hate for expensive shit to go to waste. You're considerate like that, you guess.

You notice Santana walks up to you with her fist a little too tight around your respective glasses of water, and you think she might have gotten second-hand annoyance from your annoyance, but you aren't sure. So you ask, "what's wrong, San?"

She just shakes her head a little, her eyes moving from Sugar then gluing to the insanely huge H.D. television hanging above the main bar. "If the Raven's win this game..." She says, almost like it's a threat.

You don't get how she could care so much about a game, so you tell her that.

"It's not just a _game_, Britt," Santana says back with a sigh.

"Yeah," Finn chimes in, "this is a fucking lifestyle!" He lifts his beer bottle up in your direction like a toast before taking a healthy swig.

"I don't get it either, Britt-Britt," Sugar says from behind her stereotypical Apple-martini.

Completely ignoring Sugar you say, "I just don't understand why you want the Niners to win so bad, your hometown is closer to Baltimore." Logically, you think it makes sense. Santana just huffs in response.

"I gave my first blowjob in California," Santana says with a way to casual shrug, and you laugh because, like, ew.

"You're horrible," you say through giggles as Finn adjusts his eyes back into his head. Sugar just glares at Santana like she's waiting for something to happen.

**III**

"I almost killed Sugar today," Santana says a little too casual as she puts her car in park in front of your house. You both unbuckle your seat-belts before stepping out of the car. You ask her why with your eyes and she continues, "She was, _I don't know_, gonna ruin everything." You stare at her like she's crazy because, like, what?

"C'mon, Britt," Santana says as she reaches behind the pot on your porch to get your spare key because she's too impatient to wait for you to open it yourself. That, or she likes the idea of the motion. You hope it's the latter.

You follow Santana into your house that feels so much more like a home when she's there. You just don't tell her out loud. It would be too creepy to just spring that on her. If you did tell her, you'd have to wait until she's here again, that way it's like you just thought of it.

She leads you into your kitchen before turning on the lights, her hands shaking as they hold each other. "Britt," she begins, "I bought you something," she swallows, "because I think you have beautiful eyes." She hands you a little box that appeared out of nowhere, and out of the six months you've known Santana, you've never seen her this nervous. "Happy belated birthday," she whispers.

You open the box and take in the custom dandelion earrings, they are charming and beautiful and full of love. You think they are almost too beautiful you. Almost.

You think that she is beautiful. You think that she is the total opposite of you, and you automatically love her for it. Not for superficial reasons, surprisingly, but because all you see is a girl who can love herself.

**IV**

You think you're okay.

You think you're okay.

You think you're okay, but you fucking hate your job. You hate being behind a desk. You hate answering phone calls and you hate computers. You hate how out of shape you're becoming. You hate how much you want to punch your manager, Terri, in the face. You hate how it makes you just want a drink when you get home. You hate the person it's making you.

You hate it.

You hate it.

You hated it, and that's why you quit.

**V**

Charming Michael has charmed you.

You went to the dance studio, because you're a supportive friend, to encourage Finn while he flops around like a whale. You love the fact that Finn signed up for an intermediate Hip-Hop class. You're sure with every pop, his body locked but he was trying so hard that you still whooped and cheered him on. Being a good friend didn't stop you from laughing, though. But when you did, you at least turned your face from his direction. You're considerate like that, you guess.

Michael finished the class strong and you automatically felt happy to be there. You never noticed how fucking good he is and you made up for lost time by telling him when the class was over.

Even though you're still not his friend, you might be his acquaintance, so you matched his compliment with a hug and a smile.

"Hey, Britt," Mike said before offering you a job. It was so sudden and you didn't know what to say and he just took it as a yes and you smiled and he smiled harder. You smiled and smiled and he just handed you a key before telling you that, if it's okay with you, you should lock up tonight. And you were so quiet all you did was nod to his back as he walked away from you. And when he left you said, "Thanks, Mike" to an empty room. And then you pulled out your ipod. And you hooked it up to the sound system.

And you danced.

And you danced.

And you danced, and you felt your wings get lighter.

And you wish Marley could see you now.


End file.
